


And Your Soft Hands

by BlossomofFireandRain



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Play, Bondage, Bulge Blocking, Bulges and Nooks, Cockblocking, F/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sheath Play, Trolls with rumblespheres, Vibrators, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomofFireandRain/pseuds/BlossomofFireandRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’ve never understood your response to it, but you understand that it makes you feel….right. Safe.  Like a stand-in for pale-rom, except nothing that it makes you feel is pale. </p>
<p>Karkat gets a little more than expected during one of his self-planned bdsm sessions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Your Soft Hands

You’ve never understood your response to it, but you understand that it makes you feel….right. Safe. Like a stand-in for pale-rom, except nothing that it makes you feel is pale. 

It turns out being on a asteroid hurled through space with almost everyone dead is a really good way to explore this. You research on the last remaining bit of alternian internet, maybe snoop around earthian internet, play with captcha codes at odd hours, sneaking around as you tried to create what you wanted without anyone else finding out, and somehow you come to have a hobby that leads to where you are now.

If you could, you’d be whining, whimpering, but the gag you created doesn’t allow that, choking down the sounds you make into subdued barely-there noises. Your wrists pull at the binders, and the feel of them slowly becoming raw exhilarates you. You can’t move, can’t pull away, can’t cry out, stuck in a position you put yourself in, with only timers to show you mercy.

That’s part of what lets you feel safe. In an hour and a half (hour and 13 minutes) the vibe will click on to full power, and _stay_ there, in an hour and 45 minutes(hour and 32 minutes) it’ll click off as the handcuffs click open. And even if it doesn’t, you’ve placed the stupid wrist communicator close enough that you could tip sideways and work it. (Dave being the only one here you’d really trust to let you out and not analyze it too much, not that you’d tell him that.) You feel as in control as you feel _under_ control. 

The vibe in your nook shudders through different speeds, randomized, sometimes roaring up to full speed, before suddenly cutting off and leaving you so close, so achingly sensitive, even as the vibes taped along your grubscars and rumblespheres do the same thing. The real kicker here, however, is what you have in your sheath.

The plug is 3 inches long, with an inflatable bulb at the end. You’ve even managed to make it vibrate too, and somehow the feeling of being tightly bound away, even as your nook tries to plump up and open for the vibe just makes it that much more intense. It makes you tighter inside, less room inside your nook, and through the thin upper wall between your nook and your sheath, your bulge feels the vibrations from the toy, even as the sheath plug tortures the tip of it. And there’s no fucking way you can come fully with it in. Which is why it has a timer too, the same limit as the vibe in your nook.

You feel like a fucking genius. 

You know you’ll come when the vibe turns up all the way. You know you’ll be stuck like that just long enough to feel the full impact of oversensitivity, the orgasm dragged out as you come all over yourself, wallow in the mess you’ve made. It’ll be perfect.

By your estimate, you still have 15 minutes to go, so when you feel something soft and warm run over your ass, you maybe shriek a little. When you turn back though, all you can see is a long tan arm sticking out of a blue-white portal, as the hand attaches to it gets _real_ familiar with your glutes, rubbing and kneading at them, running over the soft undersides right above your thighs, and when it finds the beginning of your nook, well, you may or may not have pushed back against it.

Part of you is still frozen, you don’t know what this is, you’re tied up, with vibes pretty much anywhere you could have put them, and there is a unknown hand molesting your ass, but…. It’s silly, but the way the arm looks, the shape and color of the hand, the bitten-short nails, they remind you of Jade and John. You swear it’s the same variety of skin color as them, the same lanky, bony limbs, the visible movement of the bones in their hands, and now it’s running over your ass, rubbing along the the edge of your nook, feeling the difference between it and the vibe in you, well, maybe you’ve had this fantasy before, being touched by one of them like this. Just, you know, not just one arm by itself.

So when it pulls at the vibe, and then pushes it back in, you maybe buck back with a muffled shout. 

It stops and fumbles with the vibe for a moment, and it’s only when it manages to click through different settings that you realize what it’s looking for. The vibe roars to full power, and you scream, jerking your hips, trying to get it deeper, back to the spot against your gene sphincter. When you feel something caress your face, your not as surprised as you should be to see another hand appear, tracing your face, and the tear tracks down it, even as the hand in the back pumps the toy in and out of you.

One by one, more and more hands appear, like they’re getting drawn here by the first ones. Tracing up and down your body, feeling up your grubscars, resting against your neck, playing with your horns, it’s overwhelming. Hands fumble at your small rumbespheres, rolling them back and forth, playing with the small tips, and you feel so small, that you can’t help but indulge in the feeling of safety. Small and surrounded by people that love you, want you, touching you because they like you, they like how you’re shaped, from your belly pooch that refuses to be shed, despite all the training, to your small rumblespheres, red from your nook, from where it’s leaking from around the sheath plug on the hands touching you, that they approve of how you are. Someone finds the catch to the gag, and suddenly hands are pulling it away and feeling your swollen lips. A thumb traces your bottom lip, and you open your mouth to suck at it, running your tongue against the pad of it, and you purr around it. You can’t even feel ashamed of your reaction to a hand spreading your glutes and running fingers over your wastechute, teasing over it and slowly pushing against it, slicked in the ridiculous amounts of lubricant you’re leaking.

When you hear a click below you, it doesn’t register at first, but when your bulge suddenly shoves out, pushing the sheath plug out of the way as it deflates, you have to consciously stop yourself from biting the fingers in your mouth. You can’t- There’s no way you’re gonna make it. Not with so many hands touching you carefully, not with the vibe cranked up and being pistoned into your nook, not with the fingers stretching out your wastechute, squeezing your thighs, tangling in your bulge now, you _can’t._

And so you don’t.

With a sob like someone killed you, you tip over. Feels like falling, feels like safety and fear, all mixed together, feels like being thrown off a cliff and hitting the bottom hard. Your slurry splatters and streaks, rubbed into your skin by the many hands, and it’s like- It feels like-

You come again, smaller, but more painful, at the thought of so many coming at the sight of your pleasure, coming because they enjoyed touching you.

When your brain finally comes away from the safe place, you find yourself laying in your slurry. Someone has obviously found the catch on the cuffs and released you, and your shoulders ache with it. Hands are already starting to vanish, but most continue to touch you softly even as they do. Soft traces on your skin, down along your spine, designs in slurry drawn by fingers that you can’t see the owner of, you feel…..safe. You even feel safe as the last hand vanishes, leaving you cold and damp. You can’t even care enough to clean up, just grab a blanket and bundle up in it, still raspily purring into it.

Your wrist communicator buzzes.

"Yo, Karkat, you alive? I’m not saying I’m worried or anything, but someone said they heard you making weird noises in your bedroom, now who could have said that, maybe meddling dames, you know how it is, but seriously, you okay? You sick? I need to bring cluckbeast soup?"

Maybe you laugh a little when you throw a pillow at it.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at NuclearVampire.tumblr.com


End file.
